Peter R. S. Thomas

Tag: terry pratchett

  • Book Review: Mort

    Book Review: Mort

    I’m about five or six books into Discworld as a series now, and so I’ve seen Death appear as a minor character a few times. But I was very intrigued to read Mort, which sees the whole story revolve around Death and the titular character, his new apprentice.

    Death wants a holiday, wants to explore his other interests, find out what it means to be alive… and who better to take over his work than a gangly farm boy that no one else wanted as their apprentice?

    Death and Mort act as counterpoints to each other. In his time away from his ‘work’, Death struggles with humanity (trying to get drunk, not really getting why people fear him—except cats, that is). 

    Mort, on the other hand, grapples with the weight of having to sever peoples’ souls from their earthly bodies, and the apparent lack of justice when they die (because, in the end, people go where they believe they’re going to go). 

    They both go through steady arcs, with Death finding peace as a chef, and Mort becoming less bumbling and more able to take on the powers of the job, even as he questions his duty.

    One of the things I loved most was the conceptualisation of time. The instigating moment for the plot was Mort’s refusal to take Princess Keli’s soul, which created an inflection point in time. She should have died, and history carries on as if she did, and eventually it all tries to self-correct. It’s clever writing and creates a set-up where the reader isn’t sure how it’s going to be resolved.

    I found the supporting cast to be hit or miss, though. I liked Ysabel and her relationship with Mort, and how it goes from antagonistic to friendship over time. Albert is an excellent character, especially when his mysterious past is unveiled. But I wasn’t so sure about Cutwell—I’m not sure if he was supposed to be annoying and off-putting, but I wasn’t really keen on him!

    This is a really interesting and unusual fantasy book showing how Pratchett continued to have a unique take on the genre. Like I said, I’m five or six books in, and none of them have really felt the same.

  • Book Review: The Light Fantastic

    Book Review: The Light Fantastic

    The Light Fantastic is a strange, unpredictable book that is subject to its own whims and internal logic.

    So, essentially, exactly what you’d expect from a Terry Pratchett novel.

    It follows on from The Colour of Magic, though with more confidence in the narrative and voice. It overcomes some of the structural hiccups of the previous book, and its full of the beautiful, absurdist humour that we all love about Pratchett. We follow Rincewind and Twoflower as they continue their journey through Discworld on a mission to save it from certain doom.

    There are some really memorable scenes in this book. The computer created by the druids is wonderfully funny (and another great example of Pratchettian satire), as is Rincewind’s voyage into Death’s home to rescue the unperturbed Twoflower. The latter parts of the book, with mobs of increasingly erratic inhabitants of the soon-to-be-destroyed world, are both gripping and hilarious.

    The characters themselves are the heart of the novel. Rincewind and Twoflower are, of course, central, and their opposites-attract-style relationship is timeless. But others, notably Cohen the Barbarian, steal the show. Of Pratchett’s gentle parody at the expense of fantasy tropes, this is one of my favourites.

    At the same time, the plot builds in that uniquely Pratchett way, with a blend of absurdity and genuine stakes. And the ending is surprisingly touching and unexpected, and feels like a natural conclusion to this part of Rincewind’s adventure.

    If you’re looking for a natural entry point to Pratchett’s world, you could do worse than reading The Light Fantastic.

  • Book Review: Equal Rites

    Book Review: Equal Rites

    Terry Pratchett’s Equal Rites is a fun blend of fantasy and social commentary. It is told through the story of Eskarina Smith (known as Esk), a girl who accidentally inherits wizard magic in a world that insists women can only be witches.

    The characters are the book’s greatest strength. Esk is wonderfully ambitious, relentlessly driving the story forward with her determination to become a wizard. Granny Weatherwax is magnificently assertive and dominant—a true force of nature. Even Simon, the awkward young wizard, is delightfully written with genuine charm. All three develop beautifully throughout the story, their growth feeling organic rather than forced.

    Pratchett’s magic system lavishes the world with superb chaotic energy. The way magic literally seeks to escape from books, how the very walls of the Unseen University absorb magical energy and gain sentience—these details create a world where magic feels truly wild and dangerous… and real! The characters must navigate not just social obstacles but a fundamentally unstable magical environment that adds genuine tension to their journey.

    Perhaps most fascinating is Pratchett’s exploration of competing magical philosophies. Witch magic—practical, intuitive, and grounded in real-world problems—stands in sharp contrast to wizard magic, which is academic, hierarchical, and theoretical. This isn’t just for flavour; the genuine debates about different ways of knowing and learning that arise form a core part of the plot.

    Building on this, the satire of Unseen University spears traditional academic establishments everywhere (as someone who has worked in that environment, you can recognise some of the characters!). Pratchett sets focus on the politics, traditions, and resistance to change that plague many institutions. Indeed, there is an inherent contradiction between the University’s self-importance and its actual dysfunction that encapsulates the book’s themes.

    The story itself succeeds despite—or perhaps because of—its straightforward allegory. Yes, the gender dynamics critique is fairly obvious and somewhat on the nose, but Pratchett grounds it in genuine character motivations and real stakes. And to this day it remains eminently readable and relatable.

  • Book Review: The Colour of Magic

    Book Review: The Colour of Magic

    The Colour of Magic introduces readers to Terry Pratchett’s Discworld—a flat planet balanced on the backs of four elephants standing on a giant turtle swimming through space. The story follows Rincewind, a wizard capable of performing only one spell, who reluctantly becomes the guide for Twoflower, the Disc’s first tourist, complete with his magical luggage that follows him on hundreds of tiny legs. Their misadventures take them across the Disc as they flee assassins, dragons, and the whims of gods.

    What I loved most was the dynamic between Rincewind and Twoflower. It strikes a perfect balance between the cynical wizard and the wide-eyed tourist, creating a classic contrast of worldviews. I loved the interplay here—Rincewind desperate to avoid adventure, Twoflower open to exploring and nonchalant about the consequences.

    The prose is great; I’ve heard some people say that they’re not so keen on Pratchett’s earlier work and it takes him a few books to hone his style, but even still I really like it. What I think is key is his ability to imply rather than explain. He often shows reactions or outcomes, trusting readers to fill in what happened. It misfires from time to time (occasionally I misinterpret what happens), but this  is rare, and on balance I find it really effective.

    The four-part structure of The Colour of Magic gives the novel an enjoyable episodic quality, allowing us to experience the different corners of Discworld while exploring the interplay between gods and the fundamentals of magic. We move through different parts of the world, visiting Ankh-Morpork, then woods and temples, dragons, to the very edge of the Disc, in a really fun and varied way. 

    And, at its core, we get this really loving satire and parody of fantasy tropes. This is what makes Pratchett’s work distinctive—there’s an affectionate mockery of a genre he clearly adores, in this case some of the classic sword and sorcery works. All this as part of fantastic and rich world building that incorporates modernist themes, religion, bureaucracy, and other carefully selected and well represented targets of gentle mockery.

    My only criticism lies in the transition between the third and final parts, where it felt like something significant occurred off-page. There was a momentary disconnect for me that was more jarring than the book’s other scene shifts. But otherwise I loved it, and I love Pratchett, and it’s been a great experience revisiting some of his work.

  • Why Fantasy, Why Now

    Why Fantasy, Why Now

    The world is a little bit on fire right now. Climate change is getting worse. Politics have taken a shift to the right, threatening the rights of historically marginalised peoples. Technology is developing at a rapid pace—creatives are being displaced, jobs are under threat.

    In this world, Fantasy occupies a special place. It offers an escape, yes, but not just escapism—it’s a lens through which we can view and process our reality.

    Firstly, Fantasy gives us the freedom to isolate a problem and task a character with finding a solution. The problem can reflect something we face in our real world. In doing so, the reader is given the opportunity to consider the solution space. With our protagonists, we explore what the various options are.

    From Frodo in The Lord of the Rings to Vin in Mistborn, our heroes are challenged to take on evil and oppression. They try different ways to solve their problem. They fail, and get back up—this is what keeps them relatable, and the reader cheering them on—until they find something that works. 

    And it isn’t just about finding strength and power: Kvothe in The Name of the Wind shows us how intelligence and wit can be used to fight a struggle against poverty. We seem him struggle at numerous times, and we’re with him as he explores ways to attend the University, despite his background.

    In most stories, in the struggle between good and evil, good (usually) ends up on top. (Not always, but usually!) This gives us hope that the struggles we face will one day be resolved. We also learn the costs associated with different actions, the drawbacks, the mistakes—the things we may want to avoid rather than repeat. Through such works, we learn not just what to do, but what to avoid, and how to think critically about our own world’s challenges.

    Mistborn begins in a world where evil has already won, yet our heroes still find a path toward hope and redemption. Hope emerges here from a seemingly hopeless world. In contrast, Legends & Lattes reveals to us smaller victories, more personal, where an orc warrior who has tired of adventure can find fulfilment in opening a coffee shop (and in the relationships she forges along the way).

    A core aspect of Modern Fantasy is the exploration of oppression and difference, race and culture, sexuality and gender identity. Through Fantasy, people who may not have a voice in our world are given time to speak, to explore their concerns, to be heroes and represent the power to change. Above all, even though many of the creatures and peoples we encounter are not human, Fantasy helps us explore and understand our common humanity, our shared personhood and experience.

    Terry Pratchett’s Guards, Guards! and Men at Arms (and numerous other works, honestly, but I pick these as they’re fresh in my mind!) explores class discrimination and systematic inequality through the members of the City Watch. Here, peoples of different races and backgrounds and genders explore and overcome their differences in ways that are humorous, touching, and sincere. Similarly, the Edge Chronicles presents a world where many creatures (from Banderbears to Sky Pirates) must learn to coexist despite their differences.

    When the world around us gets too much, Fantasy allows us to disappear into a world unlike our own, full of mystery and adventure. But that does not mean we are running away. Like the heroes in our stories, we enter these worlds not to abandon reality, but to return changed and better equipped to face it. The best stories don’t just transport us: they transform us.

    Much of this is, of course, true of Science Fiction as well. Where Fantasy uses far off worlds and systems of magic to explore these issues, Sci-Fi uses far off futures and technological changes. Asimov’s Foundation series explores how civilisations can deal with large-scale crises; through Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? we question our humanity in a world of advancing technology; similar questions are raised in Asimov’s Baley—Olivaw series (my favourite being The Naked Sun) where the closing gap between robot and human, and the restructuring of human society around that, is explored.

    From finding solutions to considering mistakes, from giving marginalised peoples a voice to giving us the strength to face our world, literature is powerful. And it’s needed now, more than ever. So tell me, what about you? How have the stories you love changed you or given you strength?